


The Worst Thing in the World

by ceemobster



Series: What Comes with Loving the Bat [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7137626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceemobster/pseuds/ceemobster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An abrupt realisation on Damian's part influences a seemingly losing fight on Clark's part. The heroes learn to define what constitutes as the worst thing in the world... and what does not.</p>
<p>--or--</p>
<p>Damian finally learns of his father's relationship with "the alien" while Clark is still trying to get his boyfriend's youngest son to stop referring to him as "the alien".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Investigation

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a chaotic mash between the animated universe and the comic universe. Please don't cull me for inaccuracies, I'm not exactly caught up with either. You're welcome to tell me, though!

The truth was Damian still did not trust the alien. He had heard mostly good things about Superman, that much was true. They hadn't had one bad encounter either, not counting the times when Superman had been mind-controlled by one force or other. Clark Kent was always very cordial, sometimes to an obnoxious extent, but he could not exactly fault him for that. Hell, Damian might even admit to respecting him. But he still did not _trust_ him, just as he did not trust anyone, with the exception of his father and maybe Grayson. Even if both of them clearly trusted Superman.

So the fact that the alien—as Superman and Clark Kent alternatively—had been spending an increasing amount of time at the manor for the past few weeks did _not_ put him at ease.

Damian would not mind too much if it was for League business, of course. And sometimes, it was exactly that. Sometimes he would walk into the cave and find Batman and Superman hunched over a blueprint, deep in discussion. Sometimes Batman would be typing furiously on the computer with Superman at the far end of the cave doing some tinkering that required superhuman strength. Sometimes they would both be on their coms, conversing with other League members.

Other times, however... Other times it was obviously _not_ business. Other times they would not even come near the cave. Clark Kent would come through the front door, all casual and chipper, and they would just _talk_. Sometimes over whatever was on TV, sometimes over nothing at all. Pennyworth would bake them something with too much sugar in it—probably only to appease the alien, his father usually refrained from consuming diabetic food—and they would eat it at the breakfast bar, sitting elbow to elbow.

Damian did not trust the alien, so it was natural that the increasing frequency of his visits only made him suspicious. Why did he need to be here so often? What was he hiding? Damian had tried asking his father once. ( _"You've been spending an awful lot of time with the alien lately." "His name is Clark, Damian. You can call him Mr. Kent if you like."_ ) It was hopeless. His father trusted Superman too much.

He had to get to the bottom of this. Having someone he did not trust moving around the manor so freely was unsettling, to say the least. Superman, the most powerful being on the planet, was free to roam the manor, his home, his father's home, where everyone's guard was down. The problem was that there was no problem, yet. The Kryptonian hadn't done anything that could warrant him kicking him out for good. He would have done it anyway, if it weren't for his father. But alas, for the time being, all he could do was to investigate. All he could do was to try to decipher the alien's modus operandi.

The first step to any investigation was to observe, so that was exactly what he did. Damian began a habit of casually passing through whatever room his father and the alien was in. He began planting his things in the kitchen, dining room, and the numerous seating rooms, just so he could pretend to need it when it's convenient. He even ate Pennyworth's pie with them a couple times, all in the name of studying the alien's behaviour, of course. Unfortunately, that could not go on for long. His father was becoming suspicious of _his_ behaviour and would eye him whenever he came into the room that the Kryptonian was in for uncharacteristic reasons. It was expected, of course, he could not expect to keep Batman in the dark forever. Damian resorted to watching the security feed for a while, but the truth was his espionage work wasn't leading anywhere. He was still as clueless of the alien's motive as he had been at the beginning. He had to find another way.

At this point, Grayson seemed as good an alternative as any. Damian wasn't very hopeful, Grayson had always had a childish fascination with Superman after all, but if anything, he could at least get an opinion from someone who had known the alien for longer than he had. And there could not be a more perfect time to question Grayson than on one of his visits to the manor, specifically when he was sitting at the kitchen counter with his mouth full of Pennyworth's chicken linguine.

"The alien comes here often," Damian stated.

"Uhuh," Grayson responded noncommittally, still chewing.

"Grayson," Damian tried once more. "The alien is here often. _Way_ too often. He's hiding something."

That captured Grayson's attention. He tore his gaze away from his plate and looked at Damian. "Why do you think that?" he asked around a piece of chicken.

"Because he comes here often! And father lets him!" Damian threw his hands in the air, exasperated by Grayson's daftness. "Before you ask, no, I'm not talking about the visits that have to do with League business. In fact, these visits don't seem to serve any purpose whatsoever, which is why I suspect he's hiding something."

"I don't always have a purpose of coming here. I come anyway."

Damian rolled his eyes. "That's different. You're... you."

"But Clark can't do that without having some sort of ulterior motive?" Grayson asked with a raised brow.

"Clearly you don't understand the gravity of the situation," Damian scoffed.

For a moment, Grayson looked thoughtful, and Damian allowed himself a sliver of hope that maybe Grayson was capable of seeing reason after all.

"Enlighten me then," Grayson said. "What exactly does he do on these visits?"

"He and father... talk. Not about the League. Not about anything in particular, really. They just _talk_."

"You mean they chat?" Grayson asked. "Small talk?"

"I suppose you can call it that."

"They're friends, Damian. It isn't crazy for friends to do that." Grayson looked at him like he was the one being unreasonable.

"Then how come this is a _recent_ development, considering they've been friends for a long time? I'm telling you, he comes here much more often than he used to. And increasingly so, too! Don't they spend enough time on that tower anyway?" Damian huffed.

"Alright, maybe you have a point there," Grayson replied after a moment too long.

"Of course I do, Grayson."

"I'm not saying you're right about- Whatever. Just tell me, do they do anything else?"

"Sometimes they watch TV. Sometimes they eat together, Pennyworth likes to bake when he's around. Sometimes they just... sit around on the couch."

Grayson seemed to perk up at that. He looked more than a little interested, a little suspicious, and a little... excited? Damian had a feeling that Grayson was on to something, but he could not understand why he was smiling about it.

"Yeah? And do they... sit close to each other? Do they... Do they hug, maybe?"

Don't be ridiculous, Grayson" was his automatic response. As soon as the sentence left his mouth, however, it got him thinking.

There had been instances when he'd seen them sitting together with the alien's arm around his father's shoulders. Once, Damian had found them at the library's archway with their fingers linked together. Then there had been that one time when he'd seen his father holding the alien's hand across the breakfast bar... He had never seen them hugging, not _exactly_ , but the things that they did were close enough, maybe a little too close.

Damian swallowed. He hadn't given these sightings much thought before, writing them off as the alien's eccentricity. What was most aggravating was the fact that it took Grayson putting the strange behaviour under a different light for him to realise that there might be more going on there. It wasn't just the alien, after all. His father did not exactly play the part of the passive participant in these odd exchanges.

"I knew it," Grayson laughed. It seemed that he hadn't missed Damian's moment of hesitation.

"They're good friends," Damian said, hating the pathetic lack of conviction in his own voice.

"Now you're saying that?" Grayson chuckled.

"That can't- You're saying-"

"I'm not saying anything, Damian." Grayson was grinning from ear to ear, but it did not put him at ease in the slightest. "It's not my place to say anything, but you can ask Bruce."

Grayson went back to his linguine after that, still smiling, and mumbled "I knew it" one or two more times. Damian did not bother to stay. There was a plethora of information to process, now that certain things had come to light, and he'd rather not do it with Grayson grinning maniacally in the vicinity. He pointedly ignored Grayson's "Don't look so aghast, Little D. It's not the worst thing in the world!" as he climbed up the stairs, eager to find solitary in his room, the solitary that he needed to think this through. Whatever this was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be in Clark's POV and then we'll come back to Damian in the final chapter.  
> Reviews/comments are always welcome.


	2. An Acknowledgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this chapter is in Clark's POV.

"Bruce..."

Bruce's hands on his hips were firm, demanding, and Clark had half a mind to just give in. It wouldn't be difficult, not with Bruce's chest pressed flat against his own and his lips tickling the skin below his ear. Bruce was buzzed on the vintage red wine they'd both had, and even though it was nearly impossible for Clark to get drunk, Bruce's intoxication felt contagious. It was extremely tempting to just let loose and let Bruce have his way with him right where they were standing.

But no, he couldn't. Not here. Not in the library, with the door open, where anyone could walk in on them. Granted, there were only two other people in the house, but they couldn't afford that risk. Bruce and Damian had come back early from an uneventful patrol an hour ago, and Clark knew Damian was still awake. He tried to gather what was left of his resolve, sliding his palms up to Bruce's chest with every intention of gently pushing him away. But then Bruce bit down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and that last bit of willpower _completely_ evaporated. Clark moaned in defeat, which earned him a flick of Bruce's tongue on his skin. _Rao_.

Then he heard the footsteps.

Clark went rigid immediately. "Bruce," he warned.

Fortunately, Bruce wasn't so drunk that he didn't notice the change in Clark's voice and body language. He stepped back and looked up at his face, though his hands did not leave his waist.

"He's coming this way."

Bruce frowned, but didn't need any more explanation than that. He sighed and pulled one of his hands away. The other hand he only slid a few inches to the side, palm pressing against Clark's back. Clark shot him a questioning look.

"If he's coming here, he already knows you're here," Bruce stated. "No point."

Clark was ready to fly out the way he'd come in (the open window to his right) at any time, and if he was careful, he could make it look like he'd never come. Alfred hopefully wouldn't mind him borrowing a wine glass for a while. But Bruce _did_ have a point, so even though Clark still wasn't sure if it was wise for him to stay, he only nodded, deciding to trust Bruce. He felt Bruce's thumb drawing circles on his back, an attempt at reassurance. Clark sighed. It still wasn't enough to shift his focus from the open door.

To his surprise, Damian's footsteps did not proceed towards the library. Instead, he seemed to have turned to the hallway on the left of the stairs and then... _Wait_. That couldn't be right. He kept listening, was so sure that he had miscalculated Damian's position somehow, but every sound he heard only told him that there was no mistake on his part.

"Bruce?"

"What is it?"

"Why is Damian on the roof?"

Bruce's eyes widened in surprise, though only for a split second. After that he merely looked curious, but that split second was enough for Clark to know that this wasn't exactly normal.

"Should we do something?"

"Where exactly is he?" Bruce asked, ignoring his question.

"Almost... Alright, now he's right above this room."

For some reason entirely unknown to Clark, that made Bruce grin. "That's new," he said, obviously to himself.

"What's new?" Clark demanded. None of this made any sense and the way Bruce had responded so far only added more to his confusion. "Why is he on the roof, Bruce?"

"Because he decided that his 'just passing through' and 'just looking for my phone' strategy wasn't very effective," Bruce said matter-of-factly. "Now he wants to know what you—or we—are up to when you don't know he's coming. Problem is he's underestimated your hearing."

"That's..." Clark was at a loss for words. He figured he should have expected this. This was Damian, after all. He wouldn't just give up, not when he hadn't even played his best card yet. "It's a good thing you understand him so well," he finally settled.

Bruce chuckled at that. "It's not so difficult, Clark. We tend to think alike."

"So what do we do?"

Bruce looked deep in thought for a moment and then shrugged. "We're not keeping any secret here."

"Right," Clark replied, raising his brows in challenge.

"The fact that we haven't 'announced' it or made out in anyone else's presence doesn't mean we're keeping it a secret." Bruce sighed. "Besides, I'm sure he already has the right idea. Or at least something close to it."

He was about to once again ask Bruce of what they should do for the time being, but Damian distracted him. He was inching towards the windows on the left wall, Clark realised. The sky was still pitch black, but the light on the balcony was bright, and soon enough they should be able to see Damian's shadow.

"Hey," Bruce called softly, drawing his attention away from Damian. "Why don't you stay the night? Well, the morning, since the night is mostly over."

Clark only looked at Bruce for a moment, blinking rapidly. "You're serious," he finally said, only after he was absolutely sure that Bruce wasn't joking.

"Why not?" Bruce placed a hand on his cheek. "It's Saturday. Alfred makes frittata for brunch on Saturday."

Clark couldn't help but smile at that, but it wasn't exactly the frittata that won him over. It was Bruce, offering the invitation. It was Bruce, and the idea of waking up with him (which, at this point in their relationship, didn't happen nearly as often as Clark would have liked). It was Bruce, leaning towards him, eyes sharp despite the alcohol, breath sweet of wine, calloused hands gentle but firm. Everything about Bruce was intoxicating and Clark was once again ready to give in.

"Does he still refer to me as 'the alien'?" Clark managed to ask in his haze.

The corner of Bruce's lips quirked into the dangerous smirk that never failed to make Clark's knees weak. "Only sometimes," he answered, then added, "Don't worry, it's not the worst thing in the world," before kissing him full on the lips.

Clark could feel a pair of eyes boring into them and knew Bruce could feel it, too, but Bruce didn't stop kissing him, so he didn't stop kissing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter will be in Damian's POV again.  
> As always, reviews and comments are welcome.


	3. A Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this one is in Damian's POV again.

When Damian had told his father that he was going to meet Grayson for pancakes that late afternoon and needed Pennyworth to drive him to the venue, his father had looked at him dubiously, but not stopped him. Of course, Damian wouldn't have cared if his father had volunteered to drive him personally. He hadn't lied this time.

In the end, his father had sent him and Pennyworth off with a container of éclairs to give to Grayson. Pennyworth had eyed the container curiously, which was odd, Damian considered in the back seat of the car. That probably meant that Pennyworth hadn't made them. They might have come from a bakery, but who could have bought them? It was certainly not something his father would do. A gift, perhaps? That seemed just as unlikely. Unless...

He looked down at the container in his lap and carefully opened the lid to look at the pastries. They didn't look terrible per se, if maybe a little messy. All things considered, they did not look like they came from a bakery, at least not one of his father's calibre.

"Pennyworth."

"Yes, Sir."

"You didn't make these éclairs, did you?" Damian had to ask, just to be sure.

"No, Sir, I did not," Pennyworth answered flatly.

"The alien..."

"I believe Master _Clark_ baked them himself, yes," Pennyworth said, glancing at him from the rear-view mirror.

"Tt."

Damian threw his head back against the seat. _Great_. At least he had a convenient way of bringing up the subject with Grayson later.

* * *

It shouldn't be difficult to locate Grayson and his unruly hair, but Damian couldn't see him right away. He was about to call him on the phone when he finally spotted him at a booth in the far right corner. No wonder Damian hadn't been able to see him immediately. He had searched for Grayson among the individuals sitting alone in the restaurant, but Grayson was sitting across someone else in that booth. Damian couldn't say he was thrilled. He only barely registered Grayson waving him over, being too busy shooting proverbial daggers at the other person at the table.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned venomously, not even a second after sliding into the booth, needless to say choosing to sit next to Grayson.

"Nice to see you, too, kid." Todd's grin was sharp. "In my defence, Dick dragged me here."

"Grays-"

"It's alright, Damian. We're just gonna eat together, alright?" Grayson patted him on the shoulder, smiling nervously. "Now, where's that waiter..."

After placing their orders, they were left in a beat of silence. Damian had come to discuss the matter of his father and the alien with Grayson, but with Todd around, he honestly didn't want to do that. He felt thoroughly betrayed. How could Grayson think it was acceptable to invite Todd? He didn't even feel comfortable enough to hand over the container sitting on his lap.

"Grayson," Damian began, turning to the man in question. "I'm here to talk about... father."

Grayson smiled at him. "I know," he said, nodding. "And don't worry, Jason already knows."

"Yeah, kid. It's not like anyone didn't see it coming."

Damian narrowed his eyes at Todd. He noted how relaxed Todd looked, how effortless his words were. It didn't make Damian feel better. If it was true that everyone had seen it coming, that meant he was the only one who hadn't, and he honestly couldn't stand that thought.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean 'what do you mean?'" Todd asked stupidly. "Dickie here told me. Can't say I was surprised. The image of the big bad bat and Superman getting it on is funny, sure, kind of gross actually, but not surprising." He shrugged.

Damian looked down at the container of éclairs. He was still angry, mostly at himself for being the slowest to catch on, though he had no qualms dispensing his irritation on Todd. As it was, however, there seemed to be no point in being secretive anymore.

"For you, Grayson," he said, placing the container on the table. "Compliments of the alien."

Grayson's eyes and smile were wide, looking utterly manic, as he pulled the container towards him. "Clark made these?"

"Pennyworth said so."

"And of course none for me."

"There's more," Damian added, ignoring Todd's comment. "The alien spent the night two days ago."

Grayson and Todd ended up sharing the éclairs, gorging on them on top of their plates of pancakes and waffles, bowls of ice cream, and glasses of milkshake and soda. Damian barely picked at his lemon pancakes as he recounted to the older boys how he'd seen his father and the alien kiss and how he'd had to sit through a meal with them afterwards.

"Are you sure they didn't know you saw them?" Grayson asked, looking doubtful.

Damian glared at him. "Of course, I was silent. You think they would have... gone through with it, otherwise?"

Despite the obviously rhetoric nature of his question, Grayson replied with a murmur of "I don't know..." and trailed off.

"Look, you want my advice, baby bird?" Todd jumped in, unsolicited.

"No," Damian answered without missing a beat. Unlike Grayson, he was capable of recognising rhetoric when he heard one, he just didn't let it stop him from being blunt.

"It's time to shut down the recon mission," Todd continued as if Damian hadn't said anything. "He spent the night, so clearly they're not trying to hide anything from you. Learn to compromise. If you keep poking your little nose into places you shouldn't, one of these days you're gonna see something you don't want to." He sniggered. "Believe me, some things can scar you for life. And death and second life."

"Tt." Damian flinched. "Are we keeping you against your will, Grayson?" he jabbed, noticing that Grayson had begun texting beside him.

"What? No. I'm just telling Tim about this whole thing. Someone’s got to keep him up-to-date."

An hour and a half later, they had exhausted all food and talking points between the three of them. Damian went back home feeling alright—certainly not ecstatic, but not entirely upset either. Grayson had told him that Clark Kent was "exactly the kind of person that Bruce needs" and even Todd had subtly agreed. ("What the old man needs is therapy." "Jay..." "If anyone needs therapy, Todd, it's you!" "But I guess Clark's not so bad.")

This was not to say that they had changed his opinion about the alien. Damian still did not trust him. As his father always said, trust had to be _earned_. Maybe, just maybe, he could spare some time for the Kryptonian, give him a chance to try to earn his. After all, both Superman and Clark Kent had earned his father's, and Damian knew firsthand that that wasn't an easy feat. One point to consider, perhaps, was that he knew and understood that neither Superman nor Clark Kent was anything like his mother. That had to at least count for something, given what he knew of his father's proclivity when it came to romance.

But even that line of thinking was not enough to prepare him to actually come face to face with the alien as _soon_ as he'd arrived back at the manor. Damian found him sitting on the couch in the living room, glasses and plaid shirt and all. It was as if Damian's prior discussion and thoughts had summoned him somehow. He actually reeled back in shock (nothing but a minute movement and he forced himself to recover as quickly as he could, hopefully before the alien could notice).

"Hi, Damian," the alien greeted. Ever the personification of decorum.

"You're back." His father's voice came from behind him.

Damian turned around, finding his father holding two glasses of what looked like lemonade. He walked past Damian and put them down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Obviously," Damian stated, eyeing his father.

The alien cleared his throat. "How were the pancakes?"

"The amount of butter they put in those _things_ is outrageous, but considering it's a place of Grayson's choosing, I suppose it could be worse."

"I see," the alien said, chuckling good-naturedly.

Damian swallowed. "Grayson and Todd asked me to tell you that they enjoyed and appreciated your pastries."

"Jason was there, too?" his father asked, to which Damian only nodded.

"Well, I'm very happy to hear that." The alien's smile was obnoxiously blinding. "How were they, Dick and Jason?"

"Well enough."

The alien hummed and his smile softened. "That's good."

Damian's eyes darted back and forth between his father and the alien. The Kryptonian. Superman. The most powerful being on the planet. Clark Kent. No, he was certainly unlike Damian's mother. He was... kind, and he genuinely cared. He even cared enough to ask about Todd. _Clark Kent_. Perhaps it was time Damian started getting used to it.

"I'll see you at dinner, Father," he said, already turning away from the pair. Before he walked off, however, he willed himself to say the words. "And the ali- And you as well, Superm-" A pause. Todd’s words from earlier resurfaced onto his mind. "And you as well, _Kal_?"

There was a moment of deafening silence before he received a response. "Y-yes, Damian, it'll be my pleasure."

"Very well."

 _There, Todd, I_ compromised _, honourably_ , Damian thought as he walked up the stairs to head to his room. Perhaps Grayson was right. This might not be the worst thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about having Tim show up, too, but all four boys in the same room at once, with sugar and caffeine at their disposal, talking about Bruce... I kind of pity the staff of that little restaurant. So I settled with _xoxo, Gossip Dick_.  
>  Reviews/comments are always welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> It is done and I can rest. I love Superbat fics that feature the batfam and I feel like there aren't enough of them, so I may write more in this verse, but this one in particular is complete.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments, I really appreciate them!


End file.
